James Lees Wife

I. James Lees Wife Speaks at the Window I.     Ah, Love, but a day     And the world has changed!     The suns away,     And the bird estranged;     The wind has dropped,     And the skys deranged     Summer has stopped. II.     Look in my eyes!     Wilt thou change too?     Should I fear surprise?     Shall I find aught new     In the old and dear,     In the good and true,     With the changing year? III.     Thou art a man,     But I am thy love.     For the lake, its swan;     For the dell, its dove;     And for thee, (oh, haste!)     Me, to bend above,     Me, to hold embraced.     II. By the Fireside I.     Is all our fire of shipwreck wood,     Oak and pine?     Oh, for the ills half-understood,     The dim dead woe     Long ago     Befallen this bitter coast of France!     Well, poor sailors took their chance;     I take mine. II.     A ruddy shaft our fire must shoot     Oer the sea     Do sailors eye the casement-mute,     Drenched and stark,     From their bark,     And envy, gnash their teeth for hate     O the warm safe house and happy freight     Thee and me? III.     God help you, sailors, at your need!     Spare the curse!     For some ships, safe in port indeed,     Rot and rust,     Run to dust,     All through worms i the wood, which crept,     Gnawed our hearts out while we slept:     That is worse. IV.     Who lived here before us two?     Old-world pairs.     Did a woman ever, would I knew!     Watch the man     With whom began     Loves voyage full-sail, (now, gnash your teeth!)     When planks start, open hell beneath     Unawares?     III. In the Doorway I.     The swallow has set her six young on the rail,     And looks sea-ward:     The waters in stripes like a snake, olive-pale     To the leeward,     On the weather-side, black, spotted white with the wind.     Good fortune departs, and disasters behind,     Hark, the wind with its wants and its infinite wail! II.     Our fig-tree, that leaned for the saltness, has furled     Her five fingers,     Each leaf like a hand opened wide to the world     Where there lingers     No glint of the gold, Summer sent for her sake     How the vines writhe in rows, each impaled on its stake!     My heart shrivels up and my spirit shrinks curled. III.     Yet here are we two; we have love, house enough,     With the field there,     This house of four rooms, that field red and rough,     Though it yield there,     For the rabbit that robs, scarce a blade or a bent;     If a magpie alight now, it seems an event;     And they both will be gone at Novembers rebuff. IV.     But why must cold spread? but wherefore bring change     To the spirit,     God meant should mate his with an infinite range,     And inherit     His power to put life in the darkness and cold?     Oh, live and love worthily, bear and be bold!     Whom Summer made friends of, let Winter estrange     IV. Along the Beach I.     I will be quiet and talk with you,     And reason why you are wrong.     You wanted my love, is that much true?     And so I did love, so I do:     What has come of it all along? II.     I took you, how could I otherwise?     For a world to me, and more;     For all, love greatens and glorifies     Till Gods a-glow, to the loving eyes,     In what was mere earth before. III.     Yes, earth, yes, mere ignoble earth!     Now do I mis-state, mistake?     Do I wrong your weakness and call it worth?     Expect all harvest, dread no dearth,     Seal my sense up for your sake? IV.     Oh, Love, Love, no, Love I not so, indeed!     You were just weak earth, I knew     With much in you waste, with many a weed,     And plenty of passions run to seed,     But a little good grain too. V.     And such as you were, I took you for mine     Did not you find me yours,     To watch the olive and wait the vine,     And wonder when rivers of oil and wine     Would flow, as the Book assures? VI.     Well, and if none of these good things came,     What did the failure prove?     The man was my whole world, all the same,     With his flowers to praise or his weeds to blame,     And, either or both, to love. VII.     Yet this turns now to a fault, there! there!     That I do love, watch too long,     And wait too well, and weary and wear;     And t is all an old story, and my despair     Fit subject for some new song: VIII.     How the light, light love, he has wings to fly     At suspicion of a bond     My wisdom has bidden your pleasure good-bye,     Which will turn up next in a laughing eye,     And why should you look beyond?     V. On the Cliff I.     I leaned on the turf,     I looked at a rock     Left dry by the surf ;     For the turf, to call it grass were to mock     Dead to the roots, so deep was done     The work of the summer sun. II.     And the rock lay flat     As an anvils face     No iron like that!     Baked dry; of a weed, of a shell, no trace;     Sunshine outside, but ice at the core,     Deaths altar by the lone shore. III.     On the turf, sprang gay     With his films of blue,     No cricket, Ill say,     But a warhorse, barded and chanfroned too,     The gift of a quixote-mage to his knight,     Real fairy, with wings all right. IV.     On the rock, they scorch     Like a drop of fire     From a brandished torch,     Fall two red fans of a butterfly     No turf, no rock: in their ugly stead,     See, wonderful blue and red! V.     Is it not so     With the minds of men?     The level and low,     The burnt and bare, in themselves; but then     With such a blue and red grace, not theirs,     Love settling unawares!     VI. Reading a Book, Under the Cliff I.     Still ailing, Wind? Wilt be appeased or no?     Which needs the others office, thou or I?     Dost want to be disburthened of a woe,     And can, in truth, my voice untie     Its links, and let it go? II.     Art thou a dumb wronged thing that would be righted,     Entrusting thus thy cause to me? Forbear!     No tongue can mend such pleadings; faith, requited     With falsehood, love, at last aware     Of scorn, hopes, early blighted, III.     We have them; but I know not any tone     So fit as thine to falter forth a sorrow:     Dost think men would go mad without a moan,     If they knew any way to borrow     A pathos like thy own? IV.     Which sigh wouldst mock, of all the sighs? The one     So long escaping from lips starved and blue,     That lasts while on her pallet-bed the nun     Stretches her length; her foot comes through     The straw she shivers on; V.     You had not thought she was so tall: and spent,     Her shrunk lids open, her lean fingers shut     Close, close, their sharp and livid nails indent     The clammy palm; then all is mute:     That way, the spirit went. VI.     Or wouldst thou rather that I understand     Thy will to help me? like the dog I found     Once, pacing sad this solitary strand,     Who would not take my food, poor hound,     But whined and licked my hand. VII.     All this, and more, comes from some young mans pride     Of power to see, in failure and mistake,     Relinquishment, disgrace, on every side,     Merely examples for his sake,     Helps to his path untried VIII.     Instances he must, simply recognize?     Oh, more than so! must, with a learners zeal,     Make doubly prominent, twice emphasize,     By added touches that reveal     The god in babes disguise. IX.     Oh, he knows what defeat means, and the rest!     Himself the undefeated that shall be:     Failure, disgrace, he flings them you to test,     His triumph, in eternity     Too plainly manifest! X.     Whence, judge if he learn forthwith what the wind     Means in its moaning, by the happy prompt     Instinctive way of youth, I mean; for kind     Calm years, exacting their accompt     Of pain, mature the mind XI.     And some midsummer morning, at the lull     Just about daybreak, as he looks across     A sparkling foreign country, wonderful     To the seas edge for gloom and gloss,     Next minute must annul. XII.     Then, when the wind begins among the vines,     So low, so low, what shall it say but this?     Here is the change beginning, here the lines     Circumscribe beauty, set to bliss     The limit time assigns. XIII.     Nothing can be as it has been before;     Better, so call it, only not the same.     To draw one beauty into our hearts core,     And keep it changeless! such our claim;     So answered, Never more! XIV.     Simple? Why this is the old woe o the world;     Tune, to whose rise and fall we live and die.     Rise with it, then! Rejoice that man is hurled     From change to change unceasingly,     His souls wings never furled! XV.     Thats a new question; still replies the fact,     Nothing endures: the wind moans, saying so;     We moan in acquiescence : theres lifes pact.     Perhaps probation, do I know?     God does: endure his act! XVI.     Only, for man, how bitter not to grave     On his souls hands palms one fair good wise thing     Just as he grasped it! For himself, deaths wave;     While time first washes, ah, the sting!     Oer all hed sink to save.     VII. Among the Rocks I.     Oh, good gigantic smile o the brown old earth,     This autumn morning! How he sets his bones     To bask i the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet     For the ripple to run over in its mirth;     Listening the while, where on the heap of stones     The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet. II.     That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true;     Such is lifes trial, as old earth smiles and knows.     If you loved only what were worth your love,     Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you     Make the low nature better by your throes!     Give earth yourself, go up for gain above.     VIII. Beside the Drawing Board I.     As like as a Hand to another Hand!     Whoever said that foolish thing,     Could not have studied to understand     The counsels of God in fashioning,     Out of the infinite love of his heart,     This Hand, whose beauty I praise, apart     From the world of wonder left to praise,     If I tried to learn the other ways     Of love in its skill, or love in its power.     As like as a Hand to another Hand:     Who said that, never took his stand,     Found and followed, like me, an hour,     The beauty in this, how free, how fine     To fear, almost, of the limit-line!     As I looked at this, and learned and drew,     Drew and learned, and looked again,     While fast the happy minutes flew,     Its beauty mounted into my brain,     And a fancy seized me; I was fain     To efface my work, begin anew,     Kiss what before I only drew;     Ay, laying the red chalk twixt my lips,     With soul to help if the mere lips failed,     I kissed all right where the drawing ailed,     Kissed fast the grace that somehow slips     Still from ones soulless finger-tips. II.     T is a clay cast, the perfect thing,     From Hand live once, dead long ago     Princess-like it wears the ring     To fancys eye, by which we know     That here at length a master found     His match, a proud lone soul its mate,     As soaring genius sank to ground,     And pencil could not emulate     The beauty in this, how free, how fine     To fear almost! of the limit-line.     Long ago the god, like me     The worm, learned, each in our degree     Looked and loved, learned and drew,     Drew and learned and loved again,     While fast the happy minutes flew,     Till beauty mounted into his brain     And on the finger which outvied     His art he placed the ring thats there,     Still by fancys eye descried,     In token of a marriage rare     For him on earth, his arts despair,     For him in heaven, his souls fit bride. III.     Little girl with the poor coarse hand     I turned from to a cold clay cast,     I have my lesson, understand     The worth of flesh and blood at last.     Nothing but beauty in a Hand?     Because he could not change the hue,     Mend the lines and make them true     To this which met his souls demand,     Would Da Vinci turn from you?     I hear him laugh my woes to scorn,     The fool forsooth is all forlorn     Because the beauty, she thinks best,     Lived long ago or was never born,     Because no beauty bears the test     In this rough peasant Hand! Confessed!     Art is null and study void!     So sayest thou? So said not I,     Who threw the faulty pencil by,     And years instead of hours employed,     Learning the veritable use     Of flesh and bone and nerve beneath     Lines and hue of the outer sheath,     If haply I might reproduce     One motive of the powers profuse,     Flesh and bone and nerve that make     The poorest coarsest human hand     An object worthy to be scanned     A whole life long for their sole sake.     Shall earth and the cramped moment-space     Yield the heavenly crowning grace?      Now the parts and then the whole!     Who art thou, with stinted soul     And stunted body, thus to cry     I love, shall that be lifes strait dole?     I must live beloved or die!     This peasant hand that spins the wool     And bakes the bread, why lives it on,     Poor and coarse with beauty gone,     What use survives the beauty? Fool!     Go, little girl with the poor coarse hand!     I have my lesson, shall understand.     IX. On Deck I.     There is nothing to remember in me,     Nothing I ever said with a grace,     Nothing I did that you care to see,     Nothing I was that deserves a place     In your mind, now I leave you, set you free. II.     Conceded! In turn, concede to me,     Such things have been as a mutual flame.     Your souls locked fast; but, love for a key,     You might let it loose, till I grew the same     In your eyes, as in mine you stand: strange plea! III.     For then, then, what would it matter to me     That I was the harsh ill-favoured one?     We both should be like as pea and pea;     It was ever so since the world begun     So, let me proceed with my reverie. IV.     How strange it were if you had all me,     As I have all you in my heart and brain,     You, whose least word brought gloom or glee,     Who never lifted the hand in vain,     Will hold mine yet, from over the sea! V.     Strange, if a face, when you thought of me,     Rose like your own face present now,     With eyes as dear in their due degree,     Much such a mouth, and as bright a brow,     Till you saw yourself, while you cried T is She! VI.     Well, you may, you must, set down to me     Love that was life, life that was love;     A tenure of breath at your lips decree,     A passion to stand as your thoughts approve,     A rapture to fall where your foot might be. VII.     But did one touch of such love for me     Come in a word or a look of yours,     Whose words and looks will, circling, flee     Round me and round while life endures,     Could I fancy As I feel, thus feels he; VIII.     Why, fade you might to a thing like me,     And your hair grow these coarse hanks of hair,     Your skin, this bark of a gnarled tree,     You might turn myself! should I know or care     When I should be dead of joy, James Lee?